Lead to Gold
by SilentStardust
Summary: In which the Philosopher's Stone is delivered to an unusual address and all the machinations of Albus Dumbledore unravel when his pawn finds a new path to greatness. AU HPSS mentor. Please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was eight years old when the badly wrapped package appeared on the doorstep with the morning mail. With messy black hair, somewhat resembling a bird's nest, and green eyes covered by a pair of broken black framed glasses, Harry looked the perfect picture of a ragamuffin. Unfortunately, he was anything but.

_I wonder what it is?_ He wondered, turning the package over to look for a name. It had Number Four Privet Drive, but no other identifying marks. Oddly enough, it didn't even have a postal stamp. Harry bit his lip in indecision. The only person home besides him was Aunt Petunia and she was busy watching the soaps.

Giving a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, Mrs. Number Three really despised him, before ducking back inside with all the mail clutched in his hands. He made sure that the door gently closed behind him and tiptoed down the short hallway to the end table in the parlor to set down the pile.

_I should put it with the rest. It's not mine._ His small hand, almost covered by the sleeves of his too-large shirt, hesitated on the top of the pile. _It doesn't say that it belongs to anyone else in the house either. Besides, Dudley has tons and tons of presents and I never have any._

His conscience though couldn't be so easily silenced. Harry had been raised by a very strict set of principles and no matter how skewed, there was a very definite sense of what was right and wrong. Reluctantly, he placed the package, square and only a bit bigger than a ring box, and took a few steps back. His bare feet scuffed the carpet as he stared at it longingly, wanting to know what was concealed in the wrapping.

Temptation won out, however, at the sound of his aunt's voice echoing through the house as her soap ended. Harry quickly snatched the package and hurried to hide it underneath his cot in the cupboard under the stairs. _After all_, he argued, _it does call to me. It sings._

* * *

Harry didn't get a chance to check the package for several days. Busy as he was, he spent the entire time cleaning the house from top to bottom, repeatedly. Aunt Marge, as he found out the first day, was coming for a visit, and Aunt Petunia demanded absolute perfection. It wasn't until the night before the visit that Harry was finally able to check the contents of the mysterious package.

Showing the patience of a person much older than himself, Harry waited until everyone was asleep before bringing out his trusty flashlight and turning it on. Slowly, with everything safely hidden underneath the covers in case of discovery, Harry opened the package to reveal a small black box.

Curious, he looked at it for a long moment. With an odd feeling of importance, Harry lifted the lid to reveal a small red stone on a silver chain. He lifted it up and noticed that it was more than just a chain, it was a necklace. He looked for a note or something to show who it was from or who it was for, but all he could find was a small 'From Perenelle' etched into the side of the lining in the box.

Who is Perenelle? He wondered. I don't know anyone by that name. With a long moment of consideration Harry decided to wear it. Aunt Petunia wouldn't because it didn't look at all expensive. And it really was awfully odd looking. It was cracked and had several dark lines running through the center of it. For obvious reasons, Dudley and Uncle Vernon wouldn't wear it either.

No harm, no foul then. He slipped it on, expecting something to happen with the way that it practically called to him, but he was disappointed. What was I expecting? Magic?

Shrugging, Harry put away the wrapping, carefully folded, and the box underneath a loose floorboard. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, one hand protectively wrapped around the stone.

* * *

Aunt Marge was as large as Uncle Vernon and was just as mean. Unfortunately, for her that is, she was almost identical to her brother, even down to the moustache. Harry usually giggled at the thought of it late at night after everyone was asleep.

Harry had heard Aunt Petunia muttering under her breath about 'that loathsome woman' and her 'insufferable' personality. Even when Harry was nearby, she would start going on about Marge's affection for the dogs and her grievous lack of a personal life. Harry really didn't understand that one, but he was there to cook and clean for Aunt Petunia, not understand the weird thoughts that wandered throughout her mind.

That week was just as unpleasant for Harry as it had been for Aunt Petunia. While Ripper, Aunt Marge's bulldog, ate out of the good china and piddled on the carpet, linoleum, and then the grass, Harry put up with Marge herself. He didn't know why exactly she hated him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his parents were part of the reason. Though he didn't really understand that part so well, what with them being dead and all.

No matter the reason, after so many visits, he had decided that it was safer to stay out of the way as best he could. However, that was slightly difficult at the moment. The entire family had gone out to eat the last night of the visit, and Harry and the dog had been let outside. Ripper, with blood on the mind, had gone immediately for Harry. He'd crawled up the tree and to the first branch that he could reach and had been hanging there ever since.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to get a firmer grip. He knew he hadn't been hanging there that long and he knew that he only had minutes left before a long drop and sharp teeth. Ripper was bouncing around the tree trunk, furiously barking in excitement.

I can't hold on! Harry thought desperately, fingertips gripping the branch. He tried to keep his grip, he really did, but with very little food and strict chore schedule, nothing prevented him from falling a minute later. As Harry tumbled to the ground, he grabbed the stone and was still clutching it when the ground approached and darkness arrived.

* * *

"I'm still not sure about this insane scheme of yours, Nicolas," Perenelle argued, hands on hips as she stood her ground in front of her long-time husband.

Nicolas looked up and gave her an absentminded smile before turning back to his experiment. "I have seen that handing it over to my old friend would only cause much unnecessary pain. This way leads to a much better future overall, my dear."

Perenelle huffed and resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She was far older than such juvenile behavior warranted, and as much as she wished to knock some sense into her husband there was nothing else that could really be done.

"Did we have to send it to a little boy, Nic? He has no clue what it could do!"

"And really that is for the best," Nicolas' voice was calm, with a very even tone that almost sounded like notes lingering in the air. "Who better to learn the power of the stone than one who has no wish to use it in the first place?"

Perenelle definitely did not agree with the logic of that statement, but would let it go as always. Nicolas had a disturbing ability to act and ask questions later, with all of his actions becoming useful at one point or another. Perenelle knew that if she orchestrated this kind of harebrained scheme it would backfire on her. Directly.

She sighed. "Whatever you say, dear."

End Chapter. Please review. These chapters will get longer as I go on, but I had a time limit for this one. Enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

A/N: Okay, so this story is my attempt to write longer, better chapters. Please let me know how it is, and if you have ideas for the story feel free to share. I know where it is going overall, but any side trips along the way will most likely be a surprise.

**Chapter 2**

Harry had never entertained thoughts of death before in his meager eight years of life. Sure, this kid's pet had died at one point or another along the way, but he'd never really understood the whole idea. With his guardians completely incommunicable on the point, except for where it concerned his parents, Harry was unaware of the entire process and real meaning of death.

Unknown to him, his fall from that branch had not resulted in a lucky landing, in which only one bone or two was broken, or a miracle. Instead it had resulted in his death, caused by the snapping of his neck when he landed at the base of the tree. The only silver lining in his somewhat accidental demise was his complete ignorance of the bites Ripper left on the flesh of his neck, arms, and legs after he landed.

Harry lay there undiscovered, since there was no one witness to the any of the aforementioned events. Instead, life went on as normal for the residents of Privet Drive for the rest of the day. For Harry, after the severe impact with the ground, he was only immersed in total nothingness for a short time before his surroundings began to brighten. Eventually, he became aware that he was standing in a fog bank so thick that he swore he could slice a knife through it. Barely visible, a road stretched deep into the fog bank both ways.

Harry had no idea what to do. Where am I anyway? Should I stand here? Should I go forward? Go back? He bit his lip uncertainly; a bad habit Aunt Petunia had never broke him off, and turned his head from side to side. Well, there was no other way, really. He closed his eyes, spun in a circle for a long minute and then stopped. His eyes opened and Harry began to walk forward.

Harry walked for a long while, his steps echoing. He couldn't tell where exactly he was headed, but he continued onwards. Eventually, he noticed the oddly colored images etched into the stones on the road. Leaning forwards, Harry noticed that they were not etched stone, but colored glass put into the stones. He recognized none of the figures pictured in each piece, but he found them fascinating nonetheless.

Bent over examining a particularly lurid display, Harry didn't notice the set of dark violet eyes patiently watching him until he chanced to take a quick look around. He started violently and nearly fell over.

"Well, mortal. We meet once again. Your appearance here is surprising, but not completely unexpected."

Harry blinked at the tall woman before him, garbed in a dark cloak that covered her from head to toe. Nothing was visible, except her eerie violet eyes. "What do you mean?

The stranger tilted her head slightly to one side, studying him. The weight of that stare seemed to impossibly weigh him down for a long endless moment. "You are young. Your ignorance is expected, but will not be excused next time."

"Next time? Who are you?"

A brief bitter smile appeared in the darkness of the hood. "To some, I am all and nothing."

This made no sense to Harry. How could someone be both?

"You shall understand in due time, mortal. For now, however, your visit to my domain shall have some purpose, at least."

Carefully, she laid one finger on his forehead, directly where the odd lightning bolt scar was etched. A scar that had been with him for longer than he could recall. A brief surge of warmth remained on the scar for a brief second before he felt the sensation travel throughout his entire body. It was odd, but comforting at the same time.

To Harry, it was possibly what a hug from a loving parent would feel like.

"My brothers and sisters already protect the change in weave, but I believe that you, young mortal, will need as much assistance as possible to set your feet upon your destined path. With survival, naturally, being a much desired outcome."

She smiled and tenderly kissed him on the head. "Farewell. We shall see each other once again."

* * *

**Privet Drive**

Harry opened his eyes to an early evening in the backyard of Number Four. Confused, he sat up and realized that he was lying directly underneath the branch from which he had fallen. Looking around, he noticed Ripper, who was oddly silent, hiding underneath the nearest rosebush and trembling in fear.

_I wonder what's wrong with him?_

Despite Harry's compassionate nature, he stayed a good distance from the animal, all too aware of how vicious he could act at any moment. Harry frowned and scratched his head. Was it all a dream? Had he just fallen and hit his head? Absently, he touched his scar in confusion, perhaps to see if the warm feeling had remained, but was disappointed.

_I suppose it was a dream. I don't feel any different._

Placing a hand on a nearby sprinkler head, Harry levered himself up into a standing position, not noticing the slight glow of the stone around his neck. By the looks of it, the Dursleys would be back soon and he would need to be ready for when they opened the back door to let him in the house. As he walked away, Harry didn't notice the small flakes of gold, almost invisible to the naked eye, lying in the grass.

* * *

**Privet Drive: Sometime Later**

The last day of Marge's visit was both a relief and one hellish torture after another. Harry had been dragged out of his dingy cupboard, cobwebs sticking to his hair, at five in the morning to begin making an 'unforgettable' breakfast for Marge. Between cooking, cleaning, and being periodically ordered to Marge's side to listen to a scolding and receive a smack on the head, Harry had not received a single a single minute of peace the entire day.

It was a blessing when Marge finally vacated the premises in the early afternoon. He'd happily loaded all of her numerous bags, decorated in the latest style naturally, to her car and had stuffed them inside as quickly as possible. Seeing the odious woman walk down the driveway had given Harry a sort of happiness that he rarely felt.

Naturally, his luck was bound to change, as it often did. Harry's cousin, Dudley, who had been at a sleepover at a friend's house for a few days, came through the front door shortly before six with his sleeping bag clutched under one chubby arm and a bagful of gifts under the other. This actually confused Harry, as he was pretty sure that the sleepover had been a party of some sorts for one of the other boys on the block.

So, why would Dudley come home with gifts? Harry shook his head. Most likely, the overgrown whale bullied them off another kid.

With a slam of the door, Dudley threw the gifts into the parlor, grinning at the racket they made as they bounced along the floor.

Harry winced. He was sure that he had just heard something break. Wonderful.

Dudley headed for the kitchen, making sure to stomp on his cousin's hand once he reached the land of plenty. Angling for a snack, he immediately headed for his mother who was working on a jelly mold. Petunia hated all sorts of kitchen work, but any delicate project that would possibly win her points with the neighborhood sewing clue she would take on herself.

Dudley nearly bowled his mother over as he went to give her a hug. Harry couldn't help but snicker when he noticed that her arms couldn't even reach all the way around the whale. No matter how many times he noticed it, he was constantly entertained.

"My baby! I suppose you're starving! Sit down; I'll get you a nice snack."

Dudley took a seat at the table, the chair groaning under his immense weight. Next year the Dursleys would have to invest in a stainless steel chair or something, because Dudley was well on his way to making holes in the floor when he walked.

Harry did his best to melt into the corner as he cousin waited. When Dudley was bored, Harry tended to get hurt, and he didn't need the years of long-faded bruises to tell him that, either. Industriously, he scrubbed at the tile, his sweaty bangs swinging onto his glasses with every motion.

Unfortunately, Dudley was not to be deterred from his cousin so easily. Bored by a severe lack of bullying over the last few days, the other boy's parents were really strict, he was eager to take out his pent up rage on his cousin. Being only nine, he had no idea _why_ he was always so angry, only that he was. Thus, his cousin became his constant scapegoat and punching bag.

Eyes narrowed Dudley watched Harry. He had always hated the freak, he knew that much, ever since he'd been little. Dudley had taken every chance to prove that he was better and stronger and that the freak was _nothing_. As the freak added more water to the floor, he noticed something glinting around his scrawny neck in the fluorescent lights. What was that? A necklace?

Perturbed, Harry scrubbed harder and kept his eyes on the floor. He hoped that his aunt would finish soon, so at least his cousin would be distracted long enough for him to sneak outside. When the staring began to be distinctly uncomfortable, he began to realize that this would not be a pretty confrontation.

For some reason, the thought of the freak owning something even remotely pretty enraged him. He was supposed to get all the presents in this house. Since his mother was still puttering around on the stove, how long could a snack take anyways, Dudley heaved himself out of his chair and lumbered his way over to his cousin. He waited until the freak's attention was firmly on the floor before reaching to grab the chain just visible on the neck.

At the sight of the fleshy hand inches from his neck, Harry gripped the brush, ready to defend himself if necessary. Dudley's attention could only be on the necklace and he nearly cursed himself for wearing it so blatantly in the house.

_I should have known_.

As Dudley's hand connected with the chain an intense amount of pain began to radiate up his arm. Panicked, he attempted to pry his hand off the silver chain, but some force kept it glued to the object.

Harry, on the other hand, found that he was frozen. He felt a sort of tingling warmth going from the stone around his neck to his bully of a cousin, and though he tried to move to separate himself, he found that he could not. It seemed an endless moment, caught in an unusual cycle.

It happened so quickly, so unexpectedly, that not even Dudley had the tie to scream. A flash of bright light enveloped the room and its occupants, so bright that a person standing within view of the house would have been forced to cover his eyes.

_Why does this seem so familiar?_ Harry wondered as the light overcame him.

When the flash ended, the kitchen was still. No movement from any of the inhabitants stretched out on the floor disturbed the eerie silence.

* * *

**London**

The British Ministry of Magic was located underground in one of the busier, yet dilapidated sections of London. To most wizarding folk, the ministry had eleven known levels. However, hidden deep underneath the eleventh level were several unknown levels of which few had explored. In one of these levels, in an almost forgotten room, a small artifact began to glow with a soft white light that barely penetrated the gloom. It flowed for five minutes, before dying once more, unseen.

Far above, in the Department of Wizarding Minors, an alarm began to sound at the same time. In a row of file cabinets, a drawer popped open, and out of a file a single sheet of paper sprang out and floated onto a nearby desk before folding itself. The name Potter was displayed neatly across the center. At the moment of impact, the alarm died, and all was quiet, except for the sound of an owl winging its way briefly past the desk, before heading to Hogwarts.

* * *

**Hogwarts**

Albus Dumbledore was having a late evening. As headmaster, he was used to hectic days and even worse evenings, but this day had consisted of more chaos that he was used to during the school year and that was saying a lot, especially when it came to a school full of wizarding children.

Two words: Weasley twins.

He hadn't gotten the entire story, Severus had been hysterical enough, but he was aware that an unreasonable amount of color-changing charms had been involved. Also, a permanent sticking charm?

Oh, well. Severus would let him know as soon as he was calmed down.

Kicked back in his favorite squishy armchair, Albus admired his finely darned socks, a Christmas present from his absent-minded brother. On the end table nearby was his favorite novel with a bowl of lemon drops. A nicely flickering fire completed picture.

Ah, what a wonderful way to relax, he happily thought, blue eyes twinkling as he selected a drop. The twins have a week of well-earned detention, Cornelius is quiet for the first time this week, and even Severus and Minerva have toned down their rivalry to heated arguments. Wonderful.

Cracking open the novel, Albus immersed himself in the story of a young couple, intent on creating a spell to renovate the world. Ingenious, that.

Time passed, as it always does in times of relaxation, both quietly and quickly. Of course, it was not bound to last. Three chapters in Albus heard a quick fluttering shortly before a wing smacked him the face. He barely restrained himself from choking on a lemon drop in surprise. But only just barely. As he was spitting out feathers, a thin letter landed in his lap.

Shooting the owl a Look, he graciously attempted to feed it one of his treats, but was only disappointed as the owl hooted imperiously and took off quickly.

He scowled.

Albus set aside his novel and nearly sighed at the sight of the Ministry seal embedded on the back. Well, Cornelius had been quiet. He opened the letter and one bushy white eyebrow rose as he read the missive concerning the Boy-Who-Lived's use of accidental magic. He nearly sighed in relief. It had been years since the boy's last use of accidental magic and he had begun to wonder if it had been a mistake.

Albus' brow furrowed in thought. Didn't I see something similar yesterday or the day before? It was highly possible. He had been buried in paperwork taller than his head for over a week and had decided to wade through a good portion of it tomorrow.

If he had seen a similar letter, then Harry has become more advanced than I thought to wield accidental magic so powerful that he, as magical guardian, had been sent a discreet letter. _Perhaps I should schedule a visit._

Albus stroked his fingers thoughtfully through his beard. Perhaps. He popped a lemon drop in his mouth and reopened his novel. He'd figure it out in the morning.

* * *

**Hogwarts Dungeons: Next Morning**

It was the precise measurements of potion making that he loved. The ability to know the exact results by just the amount of certain ingredients instilled in Severus a sense of calm that he often could not achieve with the chaos of magic.

He eyed the simmering cauldrons that were, loathe as he was to admit it, his summer project. As difficult as the school year often was, Severus was rarely ale to indulge in experiments that lasted for weeks.

_And now, I am tantalizingly close to my greatest achievement. Once I recall the identity of that last ingredient, victory shall be mine!  
_

It was that last unknown ingredient that was preventing the bat-like professor from making significant progress. At the moment, all of the cauldrons were in stasis and would remain that way until he arrived at a satisfactory conclusion.

Meticulously, he cleaned the last of his tools with a remove-all cleaner that was guaranteed to remove any magical mess. It was living up to its rather expensive name, thankfully. Even his lower standard cauldrons, encrusted with years of student use, were practically sparkling.

I damn my anal retentiveness at moments like these. Others would take this opportunity to enjoy a fresh summer day, but I spend my time cleaning instead.

He scowled, rather aware of the menacing picture he presented. If some random person were to enter at that particular moment, Severus' glower would most likely send him running away in terror. He knew that his lank, greasy black hair, sallow skin, and hooked nose often sent children into fits of fear.

_I'm not called the 'great git of the dungeons' for nothing._

It was almost pathetic that he took great joy in living up to a nickname imposed by the students years ago. Of course, he refused to think of it in that manner and instead tried to put his mind back on the proper track.

Carefully, he put his tools away and tugged down his sleeves. Once everything was both locked and warded, he'd learned his lessons from the Weasley twins, Severus stepped into his personal quarters, carefully hidden behind a secret door. This was only one of two entrances to his quarters and he guarded both zealously.

One brandy and a song on the Wizarding Wireless Network (WWN) later, Severus was all prepared to start a bath when the sounds of tapping at his window startled him.

This was not a good sign. Owls had always meant one of two things. Either the Dark Lord, who was thankfully still buried six feet under so to speak, was calling or the old coot was.

The old coot, of course.

He almost stumbled his way to the window and let the small owl inside. It hooted balefully at him before dropping the letter it carried on his head. One quick nip of an owl treat later, that bird had no manners, and it was outside and winging its way to the owlery.

Impatiently, he ripped open the letter. If it had been a school term, it was most likely that the scream of rage would have reached the top of the Astronomy Tower.

In his office, Albus Dumbledore smiled and took another lemon drop. Perfect.

* * *

End of Chapter 2! Review please!


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Great Git Visits

Privet Drive

Harry was in his favorite hiding place. A small private garden behind the primary. None of the kids in the area knew that it was there. He wouldn't have known it were there if was not for one of his teachers. Mrs. Perry, the art teacher, had pointed it out one recess when it was clear that Dudley and his pals would not leave it alone. Harry used it all the time now. It was a safe haven. A place where he never had to worry about being bullied.

After the strange accident yesterday, Harry had taken to hiding in this garden whenever he thought Uncle Vernon might be home. Uncle had not taken the accident very well at all. As soon as Harry had woken up yesterday to the sight of Aunt Petunia and Dudley still out on the floor he had taken off to the backyard. It had proved to be a smart move. Within a few hours, Uncle had arrived home and once he saw the still unconscious Dudley and Petunia, he had let a bellow of rage that Harry was certain half the neighborhood had heard. He had taken off running and had been in the garden since.

It hadn't been a very comfortable night, to be sure, but at least it had been a relatively safe one. Now, he was just waiting for Uncle to leave for work before Harry went home. Aunt Petunia wouldn't be happy with him at all, and he was sure to be given a lot of work to do, but she would have at least calmed down by now.

Eyeing the sky, Harry tried to judge what time of day it was. The sun wasn't terribly high, so it would still be early. Crossing his arms thoughtfully, Harry thought back to all the times he'd been outside when Uncle had gone to work. Most days the sun wouldn't have been as high was it was right now and usually the dew would still be outside on the grass. He looked at the grass currently under his feet. Pretty dry.

Should be safe enough.

Stumbling out of the garden, Harry glanced around briefly before making a run through the park that backed the primary. Early or not, the neighbors would have something to say to the police if they saw him loitering in the park again. Harry couldn't count the number of times he had been hauled home by the police. Every time seemed more embarrassing than the last, especially when they felt the need to 'improve' him by lecturing him in front of the entire family.

It was the work of a few minutes to reach Number Four. Briefly, Harry paused on the sidewalk. No car on the driveway. No newspaper on the front step. Things were looking good. He took a moment to fruitlessly swipe at his hair in order to smooth it. Never neat to begin with, he was sure that it looked even more wild now.

Harry crept to the doorknob. Slowly, he eased it open and crept inside, making sure to close it as quietly as possible. With luck, he would be able to creep to the cupboard before Aunt Petunia noticed him. All his plans were ruined, however, when he turned and came face to face with not only his Aunt, but a pale stranger that seemed to swallow all the life in the room.

Harry swallowed and took a large step back. "Um, hello?"

Tall, dark and pale. And the wardrobe he had on wasn't making it any better. _I wonder why someone would wear that much black in this heat? Isn't he hot?_

Out of nowhere, the man gave a sneer as he looked down his nose at Harry. "No, Mr. Potter I am not hot. Unlike some, I am aware of things around me and am able to anticipate how the weather might affect me." 

Harry jumped, startled. _Did he just read my mind?_

"Yes, I did. Now, I would like to end this pitiful excuse for a meeting as quickly as possible. So, sit down so I can get this over with."

Harry looked at Aunt Petunia, wondering if he should. It had been a long-standing order that he was not to touch the parlor room furniture, let alone sit on it. She, however, was extremely pale. Quiet. It was completely out of character for her. Harry resisted the urge to move closer and actually see if she was still breathing. For all he knew, she would regain her senses and take him to task for being gone since yesterday. And, really, he would rather avoid that if at all possible.

Giving a shrug, Harry settled uncomfortably on the mauve couch, eyeing the stranger warily as he set in the chair across from him. Petunia remained in place, eyes staring straight ahead, face bleached of almost all color. Harry picked at a spare thread from the couch as he waited.

"What happened yesterday evening?" Sharp. Impersonal. Almost cutting. Clearly, this man had no time for pleasantries.

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

A single raise of an eyebrow. Funny, how such a simple action could make a person look so much more threatening. Harry suddenly wished that he could be anywhere but there. Looking into the stranger's dark eyes, he couldn't help but think if Dudley and the stone and Aunt Petunia. Couldn't help but thinking of waking up afterwards with the rest of the family out stone cold on the floor. All of a sudden, it seemed all too real, too vivid.

With a sudden lurch, he leaned over the armrest and vomited. Harry couldn't help but be absurdly thankful that it was mostly bile. He hadn't eaten since before he ran off yesterday. Wiping his mouth, he glanced up, surprised to see that the man looked almost bothered."'

"Potter! Do you know what happened yesterday?"

"No, sir."

"No guesses, no answers?"

"No, sir."

Harry was curious. Why would yesterday be so important? And how did he found out anyway? Still slightly sick, Harry leaned back on the couch and followed the stranger's gaze to the stone, just visible through a gap in his shirt. It seemed as if for a moment the man was going to reach for it, but mid-motion he paused. There was a long moment where they both paused. Suddenly, the man stood and strode quickly into the kitchen, ignoring the strangely frozen Aunt Petunia beside him. Harry remained still for a second, before bounding after the man. Whatever this was, it was bound to be more interesting than just looking at Aunt Petunia.

The kitchen was roughly the same as yesterday. Harry could tell that the mess had been cleaned up. The chairs had been placed in their proper positions. The only difference seemed to be a small pile of gold flakes that covered the floor. Harry wondered what they were and why they hadn't been cleaned up. He noticed with a start, that it was those same flakes that the man was bent over, muttering fiercely to himself. 

"Sir?"

Nothing. No reaction. Maybe the man hadn't heard him. "Sir?" Bravely, Harry moved next to him and cautiously tapped him on the shoulder. With a sharp movement, he suddenly found himself the recipient of a very dark glare. "What!" 

"What's going on?"

Absurdly enough, the man rolled his eyes. Harry was surprised. He didn't think that adults even knew how to do that. "Nothing you need to worry your tiny mind over, Potter."

"Oh."

A pause. "Who are you then?"

The man ignored him for a long while, clearly deeming the detritus on the floor as more important than Harry. Which was alright. He was more than used to that kind of attitude. So Harry waited as the stranger bent so close to the floor to see the flakes that his nose practically touched the tile. Finally, after a lot more muttering and a lot of writing on a piece of strange paper that he produced out of nowhere, the man finally straightened.

"I," he stated clearly, as he brushed down the garments he was wearing. "Am Professor Severus Snape."

"Oh. And why are you here?"

"That is still none of your concern. However, since you are apparently so intent on answers, you shall be provided with them. Later."

And with that, the professor grabbed Harry's arm and marched him through the kitchen, down the hallway, sparing a brief glance at the cupboard under the stair as he did so, and out the front door. As they left the house, the professor muttered once again and Harry thought nothing of it until he heard an enraged scream from his Aunt. They made it a good way down the street before they paused. The professor looked down and gave him an appraising glance. "Well, Potter. It seems you have a choice. I can take you back there," he inclined his head towards Number Four. "Or I can take you with me. Which will it be?"

Harry didn't even pause to think about it. "With you, please."

"Very well, then." And with a sharp, surprising sensation, they disappeared from Privet Drive.

End.


End file.
